Tag Archives: group

Rainbow Connection; chapter fourteen

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“Change of plans,” Paris says cheerfully.  “We’re walking you to group, having a cup of coffee or a beer at some Mission dive, then we’ll pick you up at nine sharp.”  I want to argue, but it’s not worth the effort.  I simply nod, and we’re off.

“How was the funeral?”  I ask, needing to get my mind off the murders.

“It was hard,” Paris says, his shoulders drooping.  “The casket was so tiny!  It looked like a shoe box.  My mom started wailing the moment she laid eyes on it and wouldn’t let up.”  His face twists in remembrance.  Lyle squeezes his hand on one side while I do the same on the other side.  “Douglas kept shushing her.  He was fucking embarrassed!  Told her she was making a scene.”  Paris sneers as he utters the last word.  “I finally had to tell him to leave her alone.”  Lyle puts his hand on Paris’s back and rubs.  We walk in silence, reaching A Ray of Hope in fifteen minutes.  Paris and I smoke just to have something to do.  When it’s time, I give each of them a brief hug.

“Call when the meeting’s done!”  Paris orders.  Before I can respond, he and Lyle are gone.  I shake my head in mock exasperation.  I take a minute to look for the police, but I can’t spot them—they are that good.  I go inside where the atmosphere is glum.  The women are huddled in their chairs, not looking at each other.  Sharise isn’t there, and I have a feeling that the group is going to disintegrate very soon regardless of what happens tonight.  Jennifer is rocking back and forth and mouthing something, most likely a rosary.

“Good evening,” Carol says, her professional smile in place.  “I know this is a difficult time for all of us, so I’d like to open the floor up to anyone who wants to speak.”

“Dis has gotta stop,” Maria bursts out, her eyes flashing.  “First, Ashley.  Den, Rosie, now her kid.  Who’s gonna be next?”  She throws back her head, but her voice is trembling.  She can’t cover the fear in her eyes.

“Why were you on television again?”  I ask, bringing up the question foremost in my mind.  It has nothing to do with the murders, but I have to ask.

“I know it may seem cold-blooded,” Carol says carefully, looking at each of us in the eyes.  Only Astarte and I return her look.  “I want to help as many people as possible with their pain!  This is a good opportunity to spread the word.  I hate the fact that it’s death that gives me the chance to promote the clinic and my book, but I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

“I won’t be coming any more,” Jennifer says, still rocking.  “I can’t be a part of this.  That girl, she was just a child.”

“Listen, please.”  Carol raises her voice slightly, the smile no longer on her face.  “This is the time when a group such as this is needed, when in the middle of a crisis.  If you quit now, you may regress.  Besides, Mariah’s death proves that the murders have nothing to do with the group.  You’re all safe.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say demurely.  “Maybe Mariah knew something about her mother’s death, and that’s why she was killed.  Maybe she read her mother’s notebooks.”  The silence is sudden and chilling; I have everyone’s undivided attention.  For once, Carol isn’t scribbling in her own damn notebook.

“What notebooks?”  Carol asks, her voice neutral.

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Rainbow Connection; chapter seven, part one

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The next Tuesday, I am on edge all day.  I snap at everyone at work, and no one knows why.  I have yet to tell anyone at work about my involvement in the therapy group because I don’t want to be the object of more pity or worse, suspicion.  Quinn hangs around me looking like a lost puppy, but I pay her no mind.  She’s past getting on my last nerve, and I don’t want her around.  She is slow to take the hint, though, as it seems she’s used to being ignored or abused.  Unfortunately, the more I ignore her, the more she tries to get my attention.  I wonder why she’s so persistent about pursuing me when we are obviously such different people.  I surmise it’s the thrill of the chase and leave it at that.

“Rayne!  Pay attention to me!”  Quinn hits the top of my monitor after fruitlessly trying to get my attention for the past fifteen minutes.

“Quinn, I’m trying to work.”  I am a bundle of nerves waiting for group.  The police haven’t found much concerning the new case.  Rosie didn’t have a boyfriend, nor was there any strange man in her life who might have wanted to do away with her.  Her surviving child appeared broken up about losing her, but looks can be deceiving.  I read every bit of information I can about the murder because I desperately want the murder to have nothing to do with the group.  I just can’t be involved in another investigation.

The other thing that disturbs me is that Carol was on television again speaking about the newest case.  She did the rounds and declaimed the possibility that the murders had anything to do with the therapy group.  She looked professional and serious and in control.  I can’t shake the feeling that she is using a tragic situation for her own means.  She isn’t crude about it, but she makes sure to mention her upcoming book during every show she’s on as well as the clinic.  It makes me queasy to think that she will benefit from the deaths of two women even though I know it’s the American way.  I have wavered back and forth about whether to attend the group tonight.  I have a feeling it’ll be more upsetting than healing, but I want to know what the other women think about the murders and Carol’s behavior.  If I am honest with myself, I also want to see Maria again.

“Rayne!”  Quinn whacks me on the back which I find annoying beyond belief.

“Quinn, please.  Not today.”  I fight the impulse to slap her, but just barely.

“Then when?”  Quinn is pouting again.  My head starts thumping; I just want to get rid of her, so I acquiesce.

“Tomorrow.  We’ll have a drink after work.”

“Great!”  Instantly, Quinn’s face is wreathed in smiles as she bounces away.  I suppose one night with her isn’t too much to ask for momentary peace.  Zing!  My sister has emailed me, much to my dismay.

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Rainbow Connection; chapter six, part two

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“Gary, we are here with Carol Sayers, the facilitator of the therapy group that Ashley was mandated to attend before her death.  Ms. Sayers, what can you tell us about Ashley?  Was she mentally disturbed?  Do the police think the group had anything to do with her death?”  The anorexic blond anchorwoman with her forced smile and wide-eyed stare stacks her questions in true journalistic style.  She may think it sounds assertive or exciting, but it’s merely sloppy and confusing.

“The police have not informed me of any connection,” Carol says calmly.  She is wearing a nice black skirt which reaches her knees and a snug-but-not-tight white sweater.  She has even applied makeup for the occasion.  “I firmly believe that Ashley’s demise has to do with her personal life and not the therapy group at A Ray Of Hope of which I am the facilitator.  I don’t think you realize the good work this group does for the women involved.  It’s a healing from trauma group, and many of these women have no other resources.  We are nonjudgmental, supportive and nurturing.  I believe this group makes a real difference in the lives of these women.”

I sit up in shock.  How can she talk about the group like that on television?  Granted, she doesn’t reveal any names or divulge any pertinent details, but I’m uncomfortable with her talking about it at all.  The women who attend the group do so under the assumption that it’s anonymous and private.  I don’t think prospective members would feel comfortable joining a group that is supposed to be confidential, but is high-profile.  It also strikes me as odd that she is talking about Ashley’s death if she truly believes her support group has nothing to do it.  It makes me wonder what her agenda is.  It seems almost predatory of her to seize the unfortunate occasion to promote herself.  I don’t want to hear the rest of the interview, but I can’t make myself turn it off.

“Take the night of Ashley’s murder.  I was at home researching on the internet certain points for my upcoming book on the dynamics of group therapy as I do most nights.  If it weren’t for the disrupting event of her death, would I have even remembered what I was doing?  Most likely not.”  Carol turns, stares right into the camera and smiles.

“I certainly don’t!”  The anchor laughs artificially, careful to keep her face slightly turned towards the right to show off her best side.

“My point is, everything takes on more significance when a tragedy such as this occurs.”  Carol nods her head wisely.  “It’s natural to think that because Ashley was in a therapy group when she was killed that the two are related.  As I learned in Psych 101, however, correlation does not mean causation.”  The anchor quickly wraps up the interview, thanking Carol insincerely for being there.

I watch the whole fifteen-minute feature without learning much more than I already know.  The few new facts I glean are:  Ashley didn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend at time of death; her father is seeing someone, but no one knows whom; despite all her troublemaking, Ashley was a creative girl who got high grades when she bothered to attend classes.  Her father was not interviewed, most likely because he refuses to talk about the situation.  I gulp the rest of my beer, my mind still on Carol’s interview.  Why didn’t she mention it at group tonight?  I think it’s unprofessional of her to not at least drop a hint casually that she would be on television talking about the group.  I wouldn’t have pegged her for an avoider which makes her reticence even more intriguing.  I shrug.  It could be nothing more than opportunistic posturing by her.  I noticed that she managed to get a plug in for the book she’s working on.  I don’t like it, but I can understand.  She even mentioned the name of the clinic, so perhaps she was trying to drum up support for A Ray of Hope.

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Rainbow Connection; chapter six, part one

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“Welcome back,” Carol smiles at us warmly, though with a tinge of sadness.  “As you all have most likely read, we are one less in number.  Let’s have a moment of silence.”  As we dutifully quiet down, I look around the room.  Everyone else has shown up, but no one looks too happy about being here, me included.  I see the distrust in each woman’s eyes.  How are we going to deal with this?  This is a trauma group, after all, and what is more traumatic than dealing with the aftermaths of a murder?

“I think this is crazy,” Jennifer bursts out as soon as Carol indicates that the minute is over.  “I think the group should be disbanded.  We have a lunatic running around.  Who knows who he will kill next?”  She quickly crosses herself which causes more than one woman to roll her eyes.

“We don’t know her death has anything to do with this group,” Carol points out reasonably.  “The police have thoroughly question me about the group, and I think they’re satisfied that no one here had motive to kill Ashley.”  From what I’ve read in the papers, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.  The papers imply that the police are hot on the trail of the killer who is a part of this group.  I look around the room again, scrutinizing the faces.  To my consternation, Maria is looking back at me.  She smiles and winks.  I look her over more carefully.  She has thick, black hair pulled back in a simple braid.  Her face is devoid of makeup, but she doesn’t need any.  Her dark brown eyes are wide-set, and her skin is a chestnut brown.  Her lips curve generously when she smiles, which seems to be often.  I can see the tops of her full breasts as they peek out from beneath her low-cut t-shirt.  I realize that I’m staring and quickly look away.

“I think we should have police protection,” Jennifer says.  “I don’t feel safe here.”

“Girl, the police don’t have no time for protecting nobody,” Sharise, the cop’s ‘widow’ says with a snort.  “They too busy catching dope dealers and busting up the ‘hood for stupid shit like that.”  It’s clear that she’s no fan of the police, even if her dead boyfriend had been on the force.  Or perhaps, because of it.

“We are perfectly safe,” Carol says, raising her voice slightly.  “As I said, there is no evidence that Ashley’s murder had anything to do with this group.”  She glances at her watch before saying, “Since this is a trauma group, let’s explore how we feel about Ashley’s death.  Who would like to start?”  The ubiquitous pen is in one hand, the pad of paper in the other.  I have to give her credit, however; she’s discreet.  I rarely think about her taking notes unless I happen to glance over at her while someone is talking.

“Shouldn’t have happened,” Tudd says gruffly, her eyes fixed firmly on something in front of her.  “So young.  So much life left.  Shame.”  She subsides after her terse eulogy.

“She was so spirited,” Astarte begins, spreading her hands to the side.  “I may not have been on her wave-length all the time, but I appreciated her perspective.”  I look at her hard.  I don’t trust someone who is so forgiving of someone who made a pretty horrible accusation about one’s husband.

“She’s in hell,” Jennifer says fiercely, daring anyone to contradict her.  “She laughed at the church and fornicated with other women.”

“Jennifer, that is inappropriate,” Carol says firmly, pausing in her scribbling.  A few heads bobble in agreement.

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